


The Lost Hellmouth

by silk_knickers



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Lost
Genre: BAMF Xander Harris, But hopefully not too bad, Castaways, Crossover, Desert Island Fic, First Time, Hellmouth (BtVS), M/M, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Sea Monsters, Sex Pollen, Unfinished Work - But Here's Hoping, With Some of the Dub-con Issues that Sex Pollen Brings, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-23 19:21:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30060330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silk_knickers/pseuds/silk_knickers
Summary: Xander was one of the 48 survivors of Oceanic Flight 815, which is a damn good thing for the other 47, all things considered.
Relationships: Xander Harris/Boone Carlyle
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	1. Luck

**Author's Note:**

> Long author's notes are annoying, but this probably requires a little explanation:
> 
> The first six chapters of this work were originally posted to LiveJournal in, uhm, 2004-5. I started writing it immediately after the third episode of "Lost" aired, because obviously the island was a Hellmouth, right? It was a fun little thing where I was going to incorporate some of the island's oddities (with a Hellmouth interpretation) long before they got explained on the show. Sometimes I guessed right about certain events or characters! (For instance, Jin and Sun knowing English!) Sometimes I got Jossed hard! (JJ'ed?) Several of the Lost characters are either a little or a lot OOC, because we hardly knew anything about them in the beginning, and, uh, I kind of stopped watching Lost some time during S2, oops.
> 
> The first five chapters are episodic in nature and can stand alone; chapter six was the first of a two or three parter... and then real life intervened; I needed to finish my dissertation, so I more or less abandoned it on a truly unfortunate cliffhanger. Every now and again I took another stab at it, and actually I did finish a chapter 7 that does not actually resolve the cliffhanger. There's maybe two more chapters to go. Soooo, I thought I'd post it on AO3 in the hopes that that will inspire me to finish it lo these many years later. It's always bothered me that I never finished this, because I totally knew how it was going to end from almost the first chapter, but I got hung up on a sex scene and a plot point; I did, finally, get through the sex scene at least.
> 
> SO! Caveat emptor; I may not *actually* finish this in any kind of timely fashion, or even at all, but (to the extent anyone cares about two closed-canon shows from over fifteen years ago) here's hoping. In the meantime, there are seven chapters that I can post maybe weekly, which might buy me time to actually write the last two. Or not. No promises.

Xander opened his eye slowly, squinting in the darkness, and closed it again.

His head pounded with pain, worse than any hangover, worse than after any fight he'd ever been in. Somewhere to his left, he could hear a loud whirring sound, something mechanical sputtering like a lawn mower that wouldn't quite start. The air smelled of diesel fuel.

This could not possibly be good.

He couldn't make himself move. He was sprawled in his seat at a crazy angle, leaning into the all-too-still body of the passenger next to him.

Xander had been injured before in battle. He had been the recipient of bruises and scrapes and cuts and blows to the head. He had lost an eye to an evil priest's thumb. But Xander had never felt quite so thoroughly pummelled. Every muscle in his body was sore, and he was fairly certain he had a concussion again. Even when he lost the eye, it had been at least a _local_ agony. What he felt now was all-consuming. He wondered if this was how it felt to die.

He heard movement near him and moaned, trying to move again. A voice, sounding loud even over the engine roar, sent daggers through his skull. "Here's another live one!" the voice said urgently, and soon he felt two sets of arms unbuckling him from his seat and lifting him none-too-gently.

Suddenly, there was a muffled thump followed by an explosion, and the world lurched sharply sideways before fading mercifully to black.

~~~~~

When he came to again, he found himself lying on a blanket in the sand, shaded from the sun by a plastic tarp propped up in a sort of lean-to. His mouth was dry and his skull still throbbed with electric frissons of pain. His limbs felt heavy and lifeless. His shoes had been taken off, and his socks; he wriggled his toes and was relieved to feel them moving in the warm breeze. His vision was still a little blurry. He thought his eyepatch might be missing, but couldn't be sure. He couldn't summon the energy to raise a hand to check.

"Ah, you're awake. Good," came a voice from his right, sounding relieved. A shadowy figure hovered over him. Gradually Xander's vision came into focus, revealing a dark haired man in a white dress shirt stained with blood. The man looked tired, harried. Bloody scrapes marred his beard-stubbled face. Leaning over Xander, he looked into Xander's eye, shining a flashlight into it. "Pupil is dilating. Good. I was a little worried you might not make it. You've been out over a day."

"'ve had worse," Xander mumbled, although it was likely untrue.

"Do you remember your name?" the voice asked, not unkindly.

"Xander," he managed. "Xander Harris."

"I'm Jack, Xander. I'm a doctor. I think you're going to be fine, but I want you to try to stay awake if you can. You probably still have a concussion."

"The plane... crashed?" he asked, though the answer was painfully obvious.

"Yes. We're lucky; we landed on an island."

"Can I have some water?"

"I'll send someone. I've got other patients in worse shape. You're lucky," Jack repeated. "Only 48 of us made it."

Luck. Right.

~~~~~

Over the next several days, Xander recovered his strength gradually. He knew enough, from previous head injuries, to take it slowly. Within a few days, though, he was able to move about and even help the other survivors of the crash build some simple shelters against the too-frequent rainstorms that swept the island.

He glared over at one survivor, a woman about his own age who was uninjured but doing nothing at all. She was beautiful -- blonde and curvy, a lot like Anya -- but she didn't seem to want to help in any of the group efforts to ensure their survival. "They're coming for us," she said confidently to anyone who passed by, as she lathered on suntan oil in preparation for another afternoon of lying idly on the beach. "They'll be here any time now." She reminded Xander of Cordelia. He thought he should probably give her the benefit of the doubt; even Cordelia had had a good side, hidden beneath the snark and shallowness. Still, it was hard, with everyone else working so hard to stay alive. So he glared at her, resenting her selfishness, her stubborn denial of their new reality.

"That's my sister," a voice said from behind him. "Shannon. She's just in shock, and this is how she's dealing."

Xander looked over to find a tall, lean man staring at him. His eyes were a startling blue, and his cheeks rosy beneath a few days' stubble. He was gorgeous, and looked like he should be a model. The other man gave a half smile. "I'm Boone," he said, stepping forward to join Xander in dragging luggage from the cargo hold of the shattered plane.

"Xander," he replied simply, then set about the grim business of stripping the plane of usable items, alongside the other man.

~~~~~

That night Xander sat by the campfire, idly looking at the stars. He didn't recognize some of the constellations; he wondered if they were still in the Southern Hemisphere. At least there were no vampires, no demons. Nothing to be afraid of in the nighttime.

He fingered the bead necklace around his neck, a gift from Willow. "This will give you luck," she had said. "It will protect you." It was smaller than the scapula she had made for the Scoobs for that exorcism, Junior year. It was less smelly, too -- more likely to get past the drug-sniffing dogs and airport security, at least. A more powerful magic, cast by a vastly more powerful Willow. "Don't worry, it's white magic. The cost was minimal," she had said. "It's worth it to know you'll be okay."

This was his second flight ever. The first had been the flight to Sydney, a few weeks before. He'd been scared, absolutely terrified of the idea of flying so far, so high, over so much ocean. He'd come to her for reassurances the night before he left, and she handed him the necklace. She had made it in advance, the day they began planning this trip. She knew him so well.

Xander rolled the beads in his fingers, as if he were counting a rosary. The spell had worked, in a way. He had survived. Indeed, he had been fortunate; his seat was in the center of the plane, over the wings -- which, he'd been told, was the safest place to fly. He looked up at the hulking shadow of the plane, lit by the flickering campfires. His seat was, he thought, nearly the exact center of the intact part of the plane.

And, Xander thought, frowning... what were the odds of landing on an island, when a plane disintegrated in midair, surrounded by so much water?

Xander did not notice Boone watching him, as he lost himself in dark thoughts on _probability_ and _luck_.

~~~~~

"So, you're from California too?" Boone asked as they cut stalks of bamboo near the edge of the jungle. Food was running low, and Xander had suggested to the group that they make spears from the bamboo, for hunting. There might be some animal life in the jungle -- they had heard _something_ moving about in there, at least -- and at a bare minimum they could attempt to spear fish or something. Xander had seen it on a National Geographic special once, which he absolutely had not been watching for the naked native women. It might work. And a making a bamboo spear couldn't really be that much different from whittling a stake.

"California? Yeah. But I live in Cleveland now."

"Quite a change."

"Yup. My old place got wiped out in an earthquake -- thought I'd try something different for a while," Xander explained as he worked. "I'm from Sunnydale."

Boone paused in his work, looking at the other man with surprise. "The sinkhole to end all sinkholes? Wow."

"Yeah. Got out just a little before it happened," he replied, which wasn't a lie but certainly wasn't the whole story. Xander didn't want the people on the island to believe that he'd had any brain damage in the crash, which would be the logical conclusion if he told what had really happened to level Sunnydale.

"Shannon and I are from Newport," Boone said. "The trip to Australia was to celebrate our graduating college."

"I was on business. It was the first I've flown."

"What do you do?"

"Used to be in construction. Now I'm handyman and instructor at a private school in Cleveland that some of my friends are starting."

"Construction? That explains your arms."

Xander hacked away at another bamboo stalk with a knife they'd found in the wreckage. "My arms? What about them?"

"Well, you're pretty ripped."

Xander looked up at the other man. Boone was flushed, and looked away, embarrassed. "I'm sorry," Boone continued.

Xander looked back at the bamboo. "No, it's cool. Thanks."

~~~~~

That night when the group built a fire, they hardened the tips of the bamboo spears over the flames. Sayid, the Iraqi, seemed to know what to do with them to make it work. "Have you ever been hunting?" Sayid asked with his clipped, precise accent.

"You might say that," Xander replied with a slight smile.

~~~~~

Xander stepped away from the campfire toward the lean-to that he called his own. A faint sound came from the tarp next to his, the noise nearly obscured by the crash of the ocean's waves. It sounded like someone crying.

Xander hesitated, then stepped over to investigate. In the other shelter, he was surprised to find Boone's lanky frame curled into a fetal position, his head buried in one of the cheap airplane pillows, body shivering as he sobbed.

Xander knelt down in the sand beside the other man, reaching out to pat Boone's shoulder awkwardly. "Hey, man... it'll be okay."

Boone shivered and looked up, eyes glittering in the faint light. "It's been ten days. They should've found us by now." His voice was choked with the fears that he'd been suppressing since the crash.

Xander pursed his lips, unsure at first what to say to that -- because Boone was right. They should have been rescued by now, if the airline knew their flight path. Planes had, like, transponders and things, didn't they? With a soft sigh, he settled himself slowly onto the sand beside Boone. _I am a comfortador_ , he thought to himself. He put an arm around Boone and pulled him into a careful hug. "It'll be okay," he murmured. "They'll find us." Even if the airline or the government didn't, Willow would know he was alive, would cast a locator spell and move heaven and earth to find them. She would risk it, for him. "They'll find us," he repeated, and felt Boone's shoulders relax slightly as he continued talking softly.

~~~~~

Another week passed, with no signs of rescue. Tensions were mounting.

Xander sat on the beach by the campfire, touching the necklace. Willow should have found him by now. Something was wrong.

He wished he had never volunteered for this mission. The new Watcher's Council had wanted someone to go scout out the new Slayers in Australia, and see if he couldn't recruit some to come to America to join the group training in Cleveland. He'd agreed, eagerly -- he'd never been outside of California, much less the U.S. And, frankly, living surrounded by so many teenage girls with only the dubious manliness of Giles and Andrew to dilute the estrogen was beginning to take its toll.

He'd gone, and found that few of the newly-called Australian Slayers were willing to even listen to him. Sure, some had noticed that they had suddenly become stronger and faster, quite literally overnight, about two years ago. But America was very far away, and the flight was expensive, so few had been willing to even consider the school.

Only one girl had agreed to come back with him, and she was now dead. Her ticket had been for a seat in one of the last rows of the plane.

He was responsible for her death.

He stared into the fire, almost wishing that he had died instead. There had been too much death since he met Buffy and had his eyes opened to the reality of the world. First Jesse, then Jenny, and Kendra, and Tara. The dozens of Potentials and Slayers killed by the First. Anya. And now Michelle. He fingered the beads of his protection-necklace, running the names of lost friends and comrades over in his mind.

Xander jumped slightly when he felt a warm hand touch him lightly on the back. He tilted his head back to find Boone looking down at him with an expression of concern. Xander managed a half smile. Boone squeezed his shoulder gently in silent sympathy. Unthinkingly, Xander leaned back into the touch. Slowly, as if afraid of misinterpreting, Boone knelt on the sand behind Xander and slid his arms carefully around him. Xander tensed for a moment, then allowed himself to relax into the embrace. The two men sat together watching the fire, ignoring Sawyer's smirk and Kate's conspiratorial grin, and took what comfort they could from each other.

~~~~~

The survivors had been lucky, really. The island was teeming with life, more than enough to support so small a group for a long time, if they were careful. And it might very well be a long time, too. They'd been on the island for three weeks now, and there still was no sign of rescue.

Jack and Kate were lobbying to explore the island more thoroughly, arguing their need to find a more reliable source of fresh water -- for they had no way of knowing if the near-daily rainstorms were seasonal, or if they would continue year round. Some of the survivors were against the idea, fearing the creature that they had heard on the first night on the beach. Xander hadn't even heard about _that_ until almost two weeks later, as the sightings of the beast had all occurred while he was still unconscious. The survivors seemed superstitiously afraid to discuss the unseen creature, as if denying its existence would somehow make it go away. Xander knew from living in Sunnydale how easy it was to deny reality, and how futile.

It would be his luck, he supposed, to be stranded on a demon-infested island with no Slayer in sight.

Willow really should have found him by now, or Giles, or the coven in England.

Xander had to remain strong, though. While Jack and Kate were emerging as the natural leaders of the group, Xander too was gaining a position of respect. Some in the group had noted his quiet confidence -- in their survival, in their eventual rescue -- as well as his quiet competence. Those who noticed his stolid optimism -- Boone, Shannon, a few of the others -- gathered around it like campers huddling around a campfire for fear of the dark.

Xander had survived too many near-apocalypses and an even greater number of personal near-death experiences to not believe that it would all work out, somehow.

Boone was one of those who stuck close to Xander. He maintained a strong facade during the day, helping Xander perform the little tasks that made survival on the island more likely. It was only at night that the barriers fell, and he cried himself to sleep. The hope of a magical rescue from Willow and the others was the main thing keeping Xander from doing the same.

So, Xander did what he could to support Boone -- holding him at night, whispering comforting platitudes in his ears. They had not -- yet -- been intimate. But Xander had lost too many friends and loved ones to push aside a sense of _connection_ , wherever it should be found. He was no longer the scared kid who had flinched away from Larry in the locker room of Sunnydale High. If Boone needed such comfort, Xander would provide that as well, gladly.

Sawyer was the only one who seemed actively averse to Boone and Xander's pairing off, but he never stood up against them. Xander recognized the type: all talk and no action, the classic bully. Xander was as fit as Sawyer, from nine years fighting demons alongside Buffy, and from honest labor as a construction worker. He carried himself like a fighter, by now. Too, the others in the group supported Xander, valuing his practical ideas, like the spears.

Besides, Sawyer was probably reluctant to go up against a man with an eyepatch and more than a few even older scars.

~~~~~

The survivors went hunting almost daily, gradually widening their circle from the beach on which they had landed to include more and more of the island. They went in groups of six or eight, which should (so Jack said) be enough to handle anything, even if someone panicked and froze up at the sight of a wild boar or something... bigger. Xander wasn't so sure -- if the Big Bad of the island was something demonic, only he would be truly expecting it. He wondered if, with his many years of experience among the Scoobies, he might actually recognize it, or know how to defeat it. He touched his necklace lightly, saying a short prayer to any deity that might be listening, that it might be so.

On their twenty-third day on the island, Xander joined a hunting party made up of Boone, Sawyer, Sayid, Kate, and -- surprisingly -- Shannon and Hurley. Each of them carried two spears, and Xander had shown them all the right way to use them. Hours of watching Buffy train the new Slayers had finally come in handy. He knew the others probably wondered about his background -- why a construction worker and sometime teacher would know anything about fighting and weapons -- but he didn't try to explain himself, not even to Boone.

The hunting party penetrated deep into the jungle, constantly looking for any signs of movement that might indicate dinner -- or the hypothetical Big Bad. Xander's senses were alert. There was no Buffy here to rescue him if he screwed things up. He had only amateurs to watch his back. None of them, with the exception of Sayid, had ever been tested in combat the way Xander had.

Xander knew a bit about patrolling, and privately thought they would never find anything to hunt, with the amount of noise that Boone and Hurley were making, traipsing through the underbrush. Xander fell back to help Boone, whose spear had gotten tangled in some creepers. After he helped the other man untangle himself, he gently clasped Boone's hand and smiled softly at him, as if to say, _It will be alright. We're going to make it._

The two men quickly caught up to the rest of the group. Except for the noise they themselves were making, the jungle was silent. No birds called, no insects buzzed. They might as well be the only living beings in the world.

Xander was about to ask Kate to turn them back toward the beach -- it was obvious they were just scaring any prey away -- when they abruptly found themselves at the edge of a clearing in the jungle.

Xander's breath caught, and his fingers tightened around the spear shaft.

The temple was old, for certain, given the smoothness of its moss-covered, eroded facade. Its roof and one wall had fallen outward, littering the clearing with irregular boulders. Xander was not at all surprised, however, that the jungle had not reclaimed the clearing. Even from here, on its edge, he could feel palpable waves of malevolence pouring from the glade.

Xander had felt this, to know it, only once before in his life. It was the day that the surviving Scoobies had arrived in Cleveland and scouted its Hellmouth. He had never felt this in Sunnydale, because he had grown up surrounded by it there. It was the background soundtrack to his entire life; he only became aware of the feeling from its sudden absence when the Sunnydale Hellmouth was permanently closed.

"Stay back," he warned the others flatly. "It's Evil."

The others turned to look at him, curious and puzzled expressions on their faces. Shannon looked pale, scared; her brother looked concerned.

Xander stood there, staring at the temple, breathing erratically, leaning against his spear like it was a crutch. He knew, now, why Willow's magic had not located him. His protective charm was like a candle, its puny glow obscured by the towering inferno of a Hellmouth. A Hellmouth, impossibly located on this island in the middle of nowhere. A Hellmouth which had, undoubtedly, sucked their plane to its doom. He had survived Sunnydale, and he had survived Cleveland, but he could never escape the Hellmouth.

For the first time since the crash, Xander just... gave up. The fears and the tension that had been suppressed within him for three weeks on the island burst forth in a nearly physical release. Tears ran down his face as he stared, unseeing, at the temple. He uttered a single short, bitter laugh. The others stared at him, unable to comprehend what it was that he saw, now. The grand cosmic irony of it all. Luck, indeed.

Boone reached out a tentative hand, but Xander shrugged him off. He was lost, defeated.

A Hellmouth, and no Slayer. Welcome, Xander Harris, to your new home.


	2. Loves, Labors, Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're gonna have to face it, you're addicted to love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: This is the chapter with the sex pollen, and also a few instances of degrading language. See end for more notes.
> 
> It was written after ep 4 of Lost and contains spoilers up to that point, but also it was written before ep 5, so sorry for some things that ended up being OOC?

Every morning at first light, Sun slipped away from the other crash survivors to be alone for a while. These foreigners made her nervous and uncomfortable. Or rather, they made her husband nervous, which made her uncomfortable. It amounted to the same thing in the end.

Every morning, she went off to a small pool that she had found at the edge of the jungle, not far from the crash site. The pool was shallow, but was refreshed and refilled daily by the afternoon rains. There, she gave herself a thorough sponge bath using a scrap of cloth salvaged from someone's luggage. The pool was quiet, and was secluded from the prying eyes of the Westerners by a screen of trees and bamboo shoots.

Her morning bath was the one time of the day in which she was truly alone. Away from the frantic industry of the Westerners, so concerned with building a permanent camp and cataloging the island's resources. Away from the demands of her husband, who would not allow her to become friendly with the others -- would not even allow her to admit to understanding their guttural English tongue.

The morning bath became a ritual, taking on an aspect of the sacred. A daily meditation. 

Each day she would disrobe, then cup her hands for a drink of the sweet, clear rainwater that collected in the pool. The pool was not deep enough for immersion, so she would dip her cloth into the water to scrub away the previous day's dirt. When she was clean, she would allow the warm morning breeze to dry her as she washed the previous day's clothing by hand. Without soap or detergent, her clothing was beginning to turn grey, but it was as clean as she could make it. Finally, she would dress again in fresh clothing, only then returning to her husband's side.

One morning, after they had been on the island for just over three weeks, Sun noticed something near the pool which she had not spotted before. At the base of a tree, outlined in a shaft of brilliant sunlight, was a cluster of orange flowers. Their petals were curled tightly together, forming a bell shaped cup. Bending over to stroke the silky petals with her finger, she inhaled the flowers' scent. The perfume tickled her nose; delighted, she laughed out loud. The noise of her laughter was startling in the silence of the clearing. The flowers were lovely, they were wonderful. Her head felt light and airy. For the first time since the crash, she felt truly at peace. And why not? The island was beautiful and bountiful, a paradise on earth.

She must share this with her husband. Sun carefully selected a flower, picking the most beautiful, the most flawless, and traced its stem down to the base. Gently breaking the stem, she stood with the flower in her hand, taking another whiff of its heady perfume. She plucked the leaves from the stem, and then wove the flower into her hair. Smiling beatifically down at the remaining flowers, she turned to go back to the beach and her waiting husband.

~~~~~

As the hunting party returned from the ruined temple in the jungle, they loudly discussed the implications of their discovery. Only Xander, who knew _exactly_ what it meant, was silent.

Sayid and Kate were excitedly arguing about the architecture. Sayid said some of the eroded carvings had looked vaguely Incan, which might mean that they were, somehow, near South America. Kate insisted that that wasn't possible, that the plane had turned around and was heading west or southwest at the time of the crash -- though how she could speak so certainly was anyone's guess. Shannon piped in then, to say that it didn't look like anything she had seen in her art history classes, Incan or otherwise.

"I don't care who made it, as long as they're gone now," was Sawyer's contribution, which effectively ended that line of discussion. The place had given him the creeps, though that was as close as he was going to come to admitting it.

Hurley wanted to go back and investigate the ruin. "Maybe whoever built it left behind something we can use. Tools, or a map, or something." His idea was firmly vetoed by the others. In any case, the ruins weren't going anywhere, and neither were the survivors.

Boone walked alongside Xander. "Are you okay?"

"No... not really. Not even close." He laughed bitterly.

"What was that place?"

"Bad news for us," Xander replied curtly. He stared straight ahead as he walked, and shrugged off any further questions. He was deeply shaken, and needed time to process their discovery. God, he wished Giles was here. Or, even better, that the crash survivors weren't.

When they reached the beach, Kate asked Xander to join him in reporting to Jack. Xander shook his head slowly. "I... need a little time," he said, avoiding meeting her eyes. Kate hesitated, then nodded acceptance and walked off to make her report. He knew he was being immature, avoiding this, but he couldn't deal with it now. It was all too much.

Xander went to the shelter he shared with Boone. Listlessly kicking off his shoes, he crawled under the tarp. He reached up to his eyepatch, putting it over his good eye to block out the world, and lay on his side in a fetal position. He felt rather than heard Boone crawl in behind him, sliding up to spoon with him. Xander was, despite himself, glad for his friend's comforting presence. Eventually, he managed to fall asleep.

~~~~~

Xander woke a few hours later to the sound of Boone snoring softly in his ear. He carefully disentangled himself from the other man and stood, readjusting his eyepatch. _The sleep of the innocent_ , he thought wistfully, looking back down at his friend. Boone's light stubble somehow didn't diminish his boyish innocence. Xander ran a hand over his own bearded chin. He wondered if he should try to shave. With his tan, eyepatch, and beard, he probably looked like a demented pirate. All that was missing from the picture was a parrot and a pegleg. And maybe a hook.

Xander looked out over the crashing waves into the twilight. Somewhere over the ocean, Giles and Willow and Buffy were still fighting the good fight. They probably thought he was dead, by now. He turned, looking now into the darkening jungle. The island seemed more sinister, less bucolic, now that he knew what was waiting in there.

Buffy and the other slayers were out there in the world, fighting their own battle. Here, there was only him -- him, and forty-seven other damned souls. He would have to be strong, and convince them of the danger. He would have to prepare them for whatever was coming. He hoped he would be good enough.

Xander had been shaken, badly, by what they had found in the jungle. He'd shut down. Now he understood how Buffy had felt, in the last days before facing Glory. He understood wanting to give up. He closed his eye. There might not be time to indulge in _what-if_ 's and pathetic _why me_ 's. His heart pounded. Knowing the things he knew, how could he possibly ignore this?

The smell of roast pork wafted on the breeze. The second hunting party must have had more success than his; Locke somehow always managed to bring something back. Mouth watering hungrily, Xander decided to leave off on philosophizing and turn to the practical. Kneeling again, he shook Boone's shoulder to wake him. "Dinner's on," he said lightly.

Boone blinked awake. "Xander?" he said questioningly as he awoke.

Xander cocked his head to the side and grinned sadly. "I'll explain at dinner," he said, apologetically. "The others need to hear this too."

Boone got to his feet groggily. According to Xander's wristwatch, they'd slept almost four hours. Looking at his friend's tousled hair, Xander laughed, a genuine laugh that surprised them both. "Hang on," Xander said, and reached out to brush some sand from the side of Boone's face. Boone flushed, and shyly smiled back, relieved that Xander seemed to be back to normal.

The two men made their way to the cooking pit. The smell of the food was heavenly; Xander's stomach rumbled in response. They were getting better at skinning and cooking the meat. The first time the hunt was successful, they had cooked the meat unevenly and rendered it barely edible. Xander looked at the pig roasting. You could make string for a bow from guts or tendons or something, he thought. Or maybe that was only if you took them out before the pig was cooked. He'd have to ask around, to see if anyone knew. Too bad Buffy had purchased all her bowstring and arrows from the sporting goods store. He could make some stakes tonight, at least; lots of things could be stopped by a stick of wood through the heart, provided that you knew where the heart _was_.

Some of the seats from the airplane had been taken out and arranged in a rough circle around the fire. After getting some food, Xander made his way to where Jack and Kate were sitting, Boone following after him. "Hi guys," he began, speaking softly to the group's _de facto_ leaders. "We have a little problem."

~~~~~

When the sun set on the twenty-third day on the island, Jin came awake as if from a walking dream. He and Sun lay together in an open field, their clothing nowhere to be found. The strange euphoria which had consumed him all day had at last faded.

His memory of the day was unclear; it was as though he had been drunk, though the crash survivors no longer had any alcohol with them, and he felt not at all hung over. He remembered seeing Sun return from her daily bath that morning, fresh and clean to begin the new day. He had noticed that her blouse was unbuttoned again, showing her bosom to the world, like a common whore. As he angrily approached her to berate her for it, the narrow window of revealed flesh had somehow captured his vision and fogged his mind with lust. His wife smelled clean, and somehow faintly of perfume. His passion was inflamed, his lust all-consuming...

Had they really spent the entire day in this field, making love? It hardly seemed possible, though the evidence was before his eyes. Her skin bore dozens of tiny love-bites. It was so unlike him, to leave such marks, for he was never _physically_ violent with her. Too, a soreness on his back suggested that he himself bore marks from her nails -- an impossibility! And yet he could remember, as if through a gauze curtain, the wanton passion that had consumed them both. His body ached, muscles sore, flesh raw.

He looked down at his wife, who shamefacedly sat curled up in a ball to cover her nudity with arms and legs. Harshly, he asked, "Woman, what spell have you cast upon me?"

~~~~~

"If you're joking, it is in very poor taste, after all we've been through," Jack said sharply when Xander was finished with his description of Hellmouths and Slayers and the demon world. Xander cast a pleading look at the other two, but neither seemed ready to take his side. Kate was watching him closely with thoughtful eyes, but remained silent. Boone looked at him like he was seeing a stranger.

"I'm not insane, if that's what you're thinking," Xander said wearily. His heart sank. Not even Boone believed him. None of them would, until the bodies started piling up.

"I'm deadly serious," he continued. "The monsters are real. Vampires. Demons. Werewolves. Things you've never even heard of. And this island -- that temple -- is very likely Monster Grand Central."

Jack stared levelly back at Xander. "In the morning, when it's light, I'd like to examine you again. You may have been injured more than we thought by the crash. But first -- before the crash, were you using any prescription drugs? Antidepressants? Antipsychotics? Hell, do you have a history of high blood pressure? Drug or alcohol abuse?"

Xander's jaw clenched at the interrogation. He was angry at Jack, for being so damn _rational_ , and at himself, for being unable to convince the others. His shoulders slumped as he got to his feet to leave. "I'm not insane," he said softly, "and I don't need medication. I wish I could give you better evidence than my word, but you have to believe me. We're all in very real danger. We need to start taking precautions -- no more going off alone. We should make weapons, build a palisade or something, and set a watch. It's only a matter of time before something freaky and evil happens. I just hope no one dies before you're convinced."

Turning, he stalked angrily away, alone.

~~~~~

Later that night, after most of the others had gone to sleep, Boone found him sitting at the edge of the camp, his back to the campfire, staring off into the dark jungle.

"What're you doing?" Boone asked softly, kicking his feet in the sand.

"Keeping watch," Xander replied, looking momentarily up at him. "We should have been doing this from the beginning."

Boone sighed. "You were serious back there, weren't you? About the vampires and things? Is that what happened to your hometown? Something... supernatural?"

Xander nodded glumly. "Something big, bad, and evil."

Boone shivered. "And it's here?"

Xander nodded again. "Seems like it, yeah."

Boone bit his lower lip, looking nervous. Then he lay down on the ground next to Xander. "Wake me up in a couple of hours," he said. "I'll take the second shift."

~~~~~

When Charlie woke the next day, the twitching was back, worse than before. He _hungered_ , had a _need_. The crash was bloody _fucking_ inconvenient, with his manager and (worse) his dealer safely in L.A., and him stuck on this bloody godforsaken _island_ with some crazy fucking _monster_ who had a habit of eating people. He wouldn't be fucking _surprised_ if Driveshaft had another bass guitarist already, too; Davy was a complete rutting _asshole_ , and his manager was a total _bloody_ wanker. God- _damn_ but he needed another hit.

It was a little after the pilot was _eaten_ that Charlie realized that a rescue wasn't happening any time soon. Definitely not before he used up the last of his stash. When that blonde bit translated the Froggie girl on the transceiver, and Sayid said the message had run sixteen _bloody_ years, all he could think about was his too, too tiny bag of heroin and how long it might last.

But Charlie was a smart one, he was. He knew better than to try to quit cold turkey, or be forced to go cold turkey by using it all up too soon. Oh, he'd been tempted all right, to swallow the whole bloody bag at once and die really, really _fucking_ happy. But he knew what to do -- drop off gradual, like. So, he didn't use for one day. Then for two. He tried to use lower doses each time, too, though when he got all over with the shakes, like, it was hard to keep control over how much he took.

It was really _fucking_ hard.

So here he was, twenty four days on this _bloody_ island, thankful just to say he hadn't been _eaten_ yet by whatever it was that had "killed all the others," and it had been three days, seven hours, and thirteen minutes since his last hit. But he'd gone for three days, thirteen hours, and five minutes the last time, and the bag was nearly empty now, and he'd be _damned_ if he gave up on giving it up now.

Charlie stood on his two scrawny, shaking legs, and walked off into the jungle.

~~~~~

"Doctor!" Claire cried out with a gasp, causing everyone's heads to pivot in her direction. "I think it's time!"

Nearly the entire group gathered around the pregnant woman in a loose circle. Jack had admitted that he'd never delivered a baby, but he was the most qualified, and they had all rehearsed what to do. Jack quickly motioned two people to go start a fire. They would boil some water in a metal bin to sterilize it, to use in cleaning Jack's hands and, once it was born, the baby. What wasn't said, but everyone knew, was the danger... if anything at all went wrong in the childbirth, there wasn't much they could do to fix it.

Xander stood motionless a few yards away, silently watching the action. He held a spear in his left hand and a knife borrowed from Locke's hunting kit in his right. He knew that labor could take hours even if it went smoothly, but he was prepared to wait it out.

Xander watched the woman's contractions. He wondered what would have happened if Anya hadn't died in Sunnydale. Would they have had children some day? Would Anya have come with him on this trip? He could almost hear her now, in his head, demanding that he do something to get them off the island and back to a place with more goods and services.

Xander sighed. He missed Anya. At least she could have summoned T'Hoffryn to wish them off the island, or something. He wondered what she might have thought of this... whatever it was... that was developing between him and Boone. She'd probably tell him to hurry it up and have the sex already, if she could watch.

Eventually, most of the others cleared away, tired of waiting. As the crowd dispersed, Boone noticed Xander's unusual pose and came over to him. Grinning, he said, "You weren't kidding about keeping a watch on things, were you?"

He replied softly, "I just want to be ready in case whatever comes out, comes out wrong."

Boone's smile faded. "You can't be serious."

Xander shrugged, "It'll probably be fine, but... the Hellmouth can put the 'special' in any 'special occasion.' Remind me to tell you about my high school graduation some time." Or prom. Or any major holiday. Or his almost-wedding.

Boone looked over at Claire and the doctor. The delivery seemed to be proceeding apace.

"I'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop," Xander said sadly. "Whenever we let our guard down in Sunnydale, we got slammed with something bad, and I really don't think I can handle this all by myself." He swallowed, throat clenching with suppressed emotion. It was supposed to have been _easier_ , after Willow called up all the Slayers. He wished that Michelle had survived the crash. A Slayer would be useful right now.

Boone watched Xander watching Claire, and frowned. He didn't understand what had come over Xander, but his friend's behavior was starting to really freak him out. Sitting beside Xander, he thought about the transceiver message. There was something weird -- and frightening -- about this island, for certain. Could all of Xander's bizarre stories about monsters, and a girl "chosen" to fight them, be true? Boone turned to watch the doctor and his assistants hover about the pregnant woman, and waited.

~~~~~

Xander gave a huge sigh of relief when, that afternoon, Claire gave birth to a healthy baby girl with ten fingers and ten toes. And, more importantly, no horns or a prehensile tail or gills or glowing eyes. He returned to the lean-to and tried to sleep, preparing himself for another night of watching the camp for whatever the Hellmouth might throw at them first.

~~~~~

Charlie wandered about, half out of his mind with hunger for the drug. _Bloody brilliant_ , he thought, _Going off alone when there's something out here that eats people._ He couldn't stop himself, though. If he stopped moving, he'd just reach into his pocket and pull out his dwindling supply of heroin. He wouldn't. Not until tomorrow. That was the _bloody_ goal. He could make it. He had to make it.

_Fuck_.

He didn't even know where he was any more. He'd hugged the shoreline for a little while, then turned inland. He thought he heard running water somewhere nearby. Maybe there was a stream. That would be good. Some of the others had been worried about the water situation, although the rains seemed pretty bloody regular so far. His throat was dry. He would just find the water, then go back to the group. Right. He followed the sound, forcing his way through tall underbrush and around trees.

Quite soon he found himself in a meadow full of tall grasses and wildflowers. From the far edge, he could hear the faint trickle of water over rocks. He staggered across the meadow to the water, his careless feet trampling the lush orange bell-flowers and kicking their pollen up into the air. The scent was sweet, and tickled his nostrils like a feather. His skin began to tingle, and suddenly his clothes felt too irritating and coarse. Stripping clumsily as he walked, he felt his heroin-hunger begin to recede, replaced by a feeling of gentle well-being and peace. He smiled like a child as he stumbled out of his pants and walked sluggishly to the water, which seemed now so far away. His head felt airy, like a balloon. He recognized this feeling. He was high as a _fucking_ kite, higher than he'd ever been before.

The warm breeze caressed Charlie's skin like a teasing lover's touch, and a sudden wave of lust crashed over him. He felt himself begin to harden, the tingling in his skin becoming even more intense around his groin. Halfway across the field, his legs gave out from under him, and he fell in among the flowers. Grinning giddily, he rolled over, breathing the rich scent of earth and the flowers' perfume. He stared up at the cloudless blue sky, letting the sensations wash over him.

God, he wished he had someone to share this amazing feeling with. Shannon, with her flawless skin and perfect breasts. Or Kate, with her lush lips, just made for cocksucking. Even Jack, so earnest about everything; he would probably be a fucking beast in the sack. Charlie writhed like a drowning man, every brush of a grass blade against his skin like a whipcrack of pleasure, shot straight to his groin.

Charlie ran a hand down his chest, pausing at his nipple, which he fingered lightly. He could imagine Sawyer, for all his tough guy act, taking it up the ass and begging for more. And Claire -- he bet that when she finally had the baby, that she'd be the most beautiful girl on the entire island.

He stroked his hard shaft, jerking off to quickly flashed mental images of _everyone he'd ever met_ , his mind no longer remotely coherent as the pollen-induced pleasure coursed through his veins. His vision faded into grey. His world narrowed to encompass only his hand and his cock, which was slippery with precum. He stroked himself, back arching upward and mouth curving into a "O" of pleasure as his eyes rolled up into his head. Time stood still as he convulsed frantically, moving quickly closer to orgasm. At last he came, shooting a heavy load of cum all over his chest in three sharp jets.

Charlie lay in the field surrounded by flowers, panting as his heart rate began to slow again. The glorious scent of the flowers' perfume still filled the air, and his skin still felt impossibly sensitive. It wasn't long before he felt himself begin to harden again, as the drug still coursed through his system. He began to stroke himself, more slowly this time, cupping his balls with his other hand. He gave himself over completely to sensuality, lying bare in the meadow under the midday sun.

~~~~~

Boone found his sister on the beach, reading what looked like a cheap romance novel. She hadn't had it on the flight; presumably, she'd filched it from someone else's carry-on.

"Good afternoon, Shannon. It's good to see you working as hard as always."

Shannon lifted her eyes from the pages of the paperback. "We can't all be as useful as you. Besides, I went on the hunt, didn't I?"

Boone smirked, looking down at her. "Yes, and that wouldn't have anything to do with a certain tall shaggy blonde, would it? How long did it take you to settle on him as your prey? One day? Two?"

Shannon put the book aside, preparing for another one of her classic arguments with her brother. She _so_ enjoyed this. "Sawyer is strong. He can protect me... better than you can, Mr. Metro. Besides, I have two months' worth of birth control pills left, and it would be a shame to let them go to waste."

Boone laughed at her. "And when they run out? We might be here a while, and I don't think Sawyer's the kind who takes kindly to girls who say 'no.'"

Shannon shrugged a shoulder, looking up at her brother. How dare he be on a high horse about this? "It's no different than you and Xander. Good choice, by the way. The eye thing is a little creepy, but he's got a nice ass," she said flippantly.

Boone flushed. "Xander and I aren't fucking. We're just... friends..."

Shannon cut him off and launched her attack, "You aren't fucking, _yet_ , and only because you're a complete coward. We've all seen the way you look at each other, and you spend every waking moment trailing after him like a little puppy dog. Has he made you beg for his bone yet? You know, you really ought to start putting out for him. It's been, what, three and a half weeks? If you want him to protect you, it's more than time to seal the deal."

Boone was beet red. Without another word, he turned and stalked off.

_Score one for me_ , Shannon thought. _He likes to be all high and mighty, and call me a shameless opportunist, but he's no better._

~~~~~

Boone stalked angrily away from the beach. How _dare_ Shannon compare the two of them? She was the slut princess of Newport. She had slept her way through the social scene in high school, then again in college. Now, apparently, she was planning to do the same here on the island. He knew that she'd hooked up with Sawyer already -- not that he was much of a challenge, probably. That was why Boone had been left on his own the night Xander found him crying himself to sleep. Boone didn't think that his sister was likely to stick with Sawyer for long, however. He'd seen her watching the other men, evaluating their likely usefulness in keeping her safe and comfortable.

That was nothing at all like what was going on between him and Xander. They were just two guys, thrown together in a bad situation, becoming friends under pressure. Watching each other's backs. Helping each other out. Trying to keep from falling apart.

Okay, maybe it wasn't completely normal for them to be sleeping together every night, but so what? Surviving a plane wreck and living on a tropical island wasn't exactly normal either. And it wasn't like it was anything sexual.

Boone sighed. Maybe Shannon wasn't _completely_ wrong (which, of course, only made him more angry at her for pointing it out.) Boone thought about Xander's weary acceptance of their being stranded here. Even though the difference in their ages was slight, even though Boone had been to college and Xander hadn't -- Xander was clearly the more mature and experienced of the two. He didn't have the _savoir-faire_ of a Newport socialite, but he had obviously seen things in his life.

Since they had found the ruined temple in the jungle, Xander had changed. His quiet optimism was gone; now he seemed almost fatalistic. Very much on edge, at any rate. The way he'd stood watch over Claire's delivery just wasn't normal. Was it really possible that Xander's crazy stories were actually true? Boone wanted to believe that Xander was sane and stable, but it all seemed so far-fetched. But... there _had_ been a freakin' huge _polar bear_ , and there was that bizarre transceiver message...

Suddenly Boone was reminded of Xander's warning, that they shouldn't go off alone. He'd seemed very insistent about it. Boone looked around nervously, trying to get his bearings. How stupid was he, to go storming off into the jungle alone, when they had no idea what might be living there? He hadn't walked far, he thought. Turning, he began to make his way back to the camp.

He soon found himself in a small clearing quite near the crash site; he could actually hear some of the others nearby, over the sound of the surf. He recognized this particular glade; there was a small basin formed naturally by a rock formation, in which a small amount of water was pooled. He knew some of the others used it for bathing, because a thin screen of bamboo shielded the area from sight of the beach. Relieved that he hadn't gotten lost, he paused to let his heart rate and breathing return to normal. He laughed at himself. His sister was right; he was a complete coward.

Kneeling over the rock basin, Boone splashed some water on his face and scrubbed at it with his palms. His face was rough with stubble; he would have to try to shave again soon, although his travel-sized can of shaving cream was nearly empty.

He wiped his damp face with his sleeve. Looking around the glade, his eyes lit upon a small cluster of orange flowers growing at the base of a tree. His mouth quirked in a grin. He should pick them, and give them to his sister, as an apology for their earlier argument. She would be a pain in the ass to deal with if he didn't make some sort of peace offering. Or maybe he could give them to Xander, by way of thanks for the support he'd given -- but no; he hadn't quite worked out his own feelings toward the other man, and making that kind of gesture too soon would probably only scare him off. He would just give them to Shannon instead.

Crossing the glade, Boone knelt before the tree and quickly picked the orange, bell-shaped flowers. He took a careful sniff. The scent was... interesting. He took another, deeper breath of the flowers' alluring scent. He felt his body flushing with warmth, and all thoughts of his sister were banished from his mind. They were replaced with a clear image of Xander, and his broad, muscular shoulders.

Rising, Boone stumbled toward the beach, eager to share these wonderful flowers with his friend.

~~~~~

Xander was sitting on the beach with Kate, discussing the possibilities of building some sort of wall or palisade to keep out the native fauna -- demonic or otherwise -- when he saw Boone stagger out of the jungle as if he were drunk.

Xander broke off in midsentence, watching Boone look around, seemingly disoriented. Kate turned, following Xander's gaze. She frowned and asked, "What's wrong with him?" In the distance, thunder rumbled, heralding the afternoon storm.

Boone's face lit up in a grin when he spotted Xander, and he began to lurch toward them. Xander's heart sank, and he thought, _Oh, god. Something got him._ Xander's spidey-sense was tingling.

"Xander!" Boone said, giggling. "There you are! I've got something for you." He thrust out his hand, which was clutching a bouquet of tropical flowers. Xander smiled uncertainly. Maybe Boone was just... flirting? He reached out to take the flowers. No one had ever gotten him flowers before. He was a little... okay, a lot... uncomfortable with the idea of getting flowers from another guy. Even if they _had_ been sleeping in the same shelter for almost two weeks.

A drop of rain smacked Xander in the forehead, and he looked up. The sky was darkening; it was going to rain again, soon.

Xander looked back at Boone, and took the flowers. "Uh, thanks," he said. As he took them, his hand brushed against Boone's. The other man let out a low moan, and shivered. 

Kate watched the two of them, frowning. "Xander, something's wrong..."

The wind was picking up. Xander looked at the flowers. They seemed normal enough for the tropics, a bright orange with large, silky petals. In the breeze, he could smell, very faintly, the flowers' perfume. His nose tingled with the scent, and he started to bring the flowers up to his face for a better smell. He was feeling a little... odd.

Xander's eyes widened, with sudden insight.

"Oh, shit!" he yelled, quickly throwing the flowers to the side, away from the three of them. He saw Boone sway slightly in the breeze, as if intoxicated. Xander's vision was beginning to fuzz around the edges; he hoped he hadn't gotten a full dose. He looked at his right hand -- was that a light dusting of pollen? He'd been looking for a big beastie, and had forgotten to be on guard against the Hellmouth's more insidious dangers. Stupid!

"What is it? What's wrong?" Kate asked, stepping forward, grabbing at Xander's shoulder. Her touch was like a shot of fire running through him, and he felt a tingling in his groin. Xander gasped.

"Sex magic. What is it with me and the sex magic?" Xander groaned. Boone was watching the two of them, his expression clouding with jealousy. Oh no. Xander knew how _that_ one ran. He shrugged off Kate's touch, and Boone's expression cleared again, returning to genial affability mixed with... lust. Xander tried to fight the spell -- it had been such a small sniff! -- but he could tell it was too late. He took a half-step toward the other man.

"What can I do?" Kate asked. "How do I stop it?"

Xander's mind was gone.

Out over the ocean, lightning crashed, and a low roll of thunder echoed over the waves.

Xander's world had narrowed into a sharp focus, with Boone at its center. He closed the distance between them, and embraced Boone roughly. As Boone's arms slid around him, Xander shuddered. The pleasure from the touch was amplified a hundred-fold by the powerful drug-magic that was controlling him. He could feel Boone's erection pressing through the denim of his jeans, a hard shape thrusting against his thigh. Xander's moan of pleasure was silenced by Boone, who captured his mouth in a kiss. Their mouths worked hungrily against one another.

Kate stood to the side, eyes wide with disbelief. She couldn't believe this was happening, right out in the open. She wondered if she should try to stop them -- or if she even _could_.

Boone stroked Xander's crotch through his pants. Xander shivered again at the touch. Xander licked the inside of Boone's teeth, battling the other man's tongue for possession of his mouth.

Another crash of thunder echoed across the beach, and it began to rain, in fat and heavy drops. Xander fumbled drunkenly with Boone's belt, but could not manage to undo the fastenings in his drug-addled state, at least not with only one hand. His other was around Boone's neck, holding him close. Boone bit hungrily at Xander's lower lip.

At once, the rain turned from droplets to deluge. Kate, stunned to see such blatant sexuality and feeling the voyeur, was brought back to reality. She dashed for shelter under one of the nearby tarps.

As the rain poured down in sheets, Xander and Boone were quickly soaked. While the first few droplets had stung their oversensitive skin and inflamed their passion, the downpour instead quelled their ardor. Breathing heavily, Xander returned to himself, surprised to discover his lips firmly pressed against Boone's. Boone tensed in his arms; Xander knew the spell was broken, for both of them.

One arm still wrapped around Boone's neck, Xander moved his mouth slowly in one final, gentler kiss, then broke away.

Boone stepped back, panting, looking dazed. "Xander... I'm so sorry... I don't know what happened. That wasn't..."

Xander raised a hand and interrupted. "It's not your fault. It was some kind of love spell. Or lust spell. You couldn't control yourself. It wasn't you." He sighed. "I've seen it before. Valentine's, 1998." His heart sank. Of course, it was just a spell. It hadn't been real, or meaningful. And why did that make him feel disappointed?

Xander's shirt was soaked and clung uncomfortably to his chest. Brushing rain-dampened hair from his forehead, Xander looked around the beach. He quickly found the flowers. Picking them up, he tossed them out into the ocean, where they were lost in the stormy surf.

"C'mon, let's get out of the wet," Xander said sadly to Boone, who would not meet his gaze.

~~~~~

Charlie returned to himself quickly as the rain poured down on him, washing the dried, sticky cum from his body. His right arm was sore, and his hand cramped. Sitting up groggily, he moaned. Correction. His _entire_ body was sore. Looking down, he found that his chest, arms, and legs were brilliantly red from sunburn. He must have been lying in the sun for hours.

Looking around the field blearily, he found his clothes where they'd fallen among the grass and wildflowers. He struggled into his rain-soaked jeans, moaning as the denim touched his sunburnt flesh. His moan turned into an actual scream of pain when the fabric touched his dick, which was raw and swollen from overuse.

Grimly, Charlie tried to walk, hoping to retrace his route and rejoin the others. He could manage only a slow pace; every step was agony. How long had he lain there, masturbating like a fool? What the hell was _in_ those flowers?

It took almost an hour before Charlie, damp, sunburned, and sore, staggered back into the campsite. What he did not notice until much, much later was that his craving for the heroin in his pocket was completely gone.

~~~~~

That night, around the campfire, Xander stood up in front of the other forty-seven survivors and haltingly described what they knew and suspected about the flower and its properties.

After conferring privately with Jack and Kate, they'd decided not to mention the Hellmouth or Xander's belief that the flower's effects were somehow supernatural. "Lots of plants have euphoric or hallucinogenic effects," Jack had insisted. Xander had decided that the most important thing right now was to alert the others to the threat the flowers posed; the rest could wait. Kate had shrugged agreement, lost in her own thoughts.

Xander described the flower to the other survivors. "I think that the next time it rains, we should go out and uproot any of them that we find near the camp," Xander concluded.

Sawyer spat on the ground. "No way. This thing could make us all rich once we get rescued. An honest-to-God aphro-desiac? It'll be a bigger seller than Viagra. We'll make millions." There were a few murmurs of agreement among the crowd.

Xander shook his head angrily. They just didn't get it. While his emotions were a bit askew in other regards, on this he was certain. You just didn't play around with a Hellmouth -- he'd learned that lesson often enough. Even the best of intentions would go awry. And Xander thought that marketing a Hellmouth botanical to some big pharmaceutical company probably didn't fall under "best intentions."

"Let me put it this way," Xander said flatly. "Suppose you're out hunting a wild boar. You wander into a patch of these things. Next thing you know, you're being gored to death, and you're too high to care." Xander was less worried about boars than about other things that might be hunting them in the jungle, but this was something the group could understand immediately.

"We need to be more careful," he said, deviating from Jack's agenda for the meeting. But these things needed to be said. "We don't know anything about this island, or what dangers might be lurking beyond this beach. No one should be out there wandering alone. If you need to go off somewhere, anywhere out of sight, you should bring someone with you. And make sure you tell someone where you're going." There were other things they should be doing, but it would take some convincing. This, though, was the most important. Anyone who'd ever seen a horror movie -- or lived on a Hellmouth -- should know this much.

As he returned to his seat, thinking about the common sense precautions that the Scoobs had always taken and how they might be adapted to the island, animated discussion broke out in the group. In the end, though, they agreed to follow his recommendations. At the next rainstorm, they'd go out and do some weeding.

~~~~~

That night, Xander stood watch alone at the edge of the camp. Boone did not join him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for sex pollen: One character masturbates while fantasizing about other characters; two characters in an estranged relationship have off camera sex due to pollen. A few examples of degrading language toward women.


End file.
